


Our Little Secret

by experimentalwritings



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Cock Warming, Comeplay, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dry Humping, F/M, Motorcycle Sex, Object Insertion, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Rough Sex, to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/experimentalwritings/pseuds/experimentalwritings
Summary: Betty takes being Serpent Queen very seriously.When FP asks her to do something, she’s happy to help. When he asks for more, she can’t resist. Not when he gives her so much.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/FP Jones II
Comments: 17
Kudos: 376





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! The whole pandemic thing has been kind of a nightmare for my writer brain so I decided to try more outside my wheelhouse smut. Thanks so much to everyone who commented and kudos-ed my last attempt! I also found this prompt over on the Ladies of Riverdale Smut LJ.

Betty gets Jughead’s text first. It’s sweet, thoughtful. He explains that he’ll be away for another few days. He apologizes, promises to make up for their cancelled plans. Says he misses her, that he can’t wait to see her.

She replies that she understands, because of course she does. Tells him to be careful, that she needs him to stay safe. That she’s got everything in Riverdale handled.

She’s the Serpent Queen. More than capable of holding down the fort while the king takes care of threats from outside. Jughead’s been awfully preoccupied with threats lately, hasn’t paid a whole lot of attention to issues closer to home.

No, he’s happy to let his father handle those.

When FP texts Betty it’s terse. A demand.

_Get in my bed._

Betty obeys.

She tells herself it’s her duty, that Jughead might wear the crown now, but FP is still wields the power. As serpent queen, she has to follow his commands, to please him, as well as she pleases the King.

Jughead’s easy to please. FP? Not so much. That’s why it’s so very satisfying when Betty manages it.

Maybe, in the beginning, she’d followed FP’s orders because she thought she had too. They’d been simple demands. A request for a fresh beer, a few hours of her time tidying up the trailer. Things Betty would have done anyway, all in the name of being helpful and polite.

At some point, FP had begun asking for more. Taking more.

She’d been elbow deep in a sink full of dishes one night when he’d startled her. Jughead had run out to take care of a problem at the Whyte Wyrm and Betty hadn’t felt like going home. She’d screeched and managed to soak her blouse when FP had said her name, her face had heated at his low chuckle. She’d been about to make a joke about her clumsiness when he’d been right there.

She’d frozen, a question on the tip of her tongue. FP’s head had dipped and he’d inhaled deeply, a rough noise rumbling low in his chest. “I... didn’t hear you drive up.”

FP’s hands had rested heavily on her hips, and he’d shushed her, his body strong and solid. His foot had nudged hers apart and he’d trapped her against the countertop.

When he’d told her to strip out of her wet top, Betty had done it without thinking.

She’s always been a good girl.

FP had murmured in approval, told her to finish the dishes, his voice gravelly. His fingertips had run over her bare skin, leaving trails of goosebumps and tightening her nipples. She hadn’t been able to process what was happening, the sensations too distracting, ticklish and arousing in equal measure. It had seemed impossible that he’d only possessed two hands because they’d been everywhere, tracing her spine and stroking her ribs. He’d toyed with her navel and discovered the slopes of her collarbones.

Betty hadn’t known how to react to being touched like that, as if each inch of her skin was fascinating and deserving of attention.

She hadn’t even noticed when FP’s knee had bent, that he’d rucked her skirt up, that her pussy was pressed tight to his muscled thigh. When he’d pressed her hips down and ground against her then she’d noticed.

Hard to ignore how wet she’d been.

Betty had come, the first time that night, humping FP’s leg, his fingertips tugging at her nipples through her lacy white bra.

She’d been dazed and panting in the aftermath, leaning heavily on the counter. FP had pressed his advantage, scooped her up, and laid her out on the kitchen table.

He’d shoved her legs wide, over the edges. Had tugged the cups of her bra down and flipped her skirt up over her stomach. Her panties had been torn away and Betty had been momentarily mortified as FP had paused, stood tall and studied her.

His eyes had gleamed, his expression hungry as his eyes had raked over her disheveled form.

Her hands had jerked as if to cover herself but FP had made a noise that stilled her, right before his hand smacked down between her splayed legs, leaving her pussy stinging and tingling. It had hurt a little but a _good_ hurt, leaving her so sensitive. The heat of the slap had cooled, leaving her slick and exposed and any trace of embarrassment gone as she’d bitten her lip and squirmed.

She’d wanted him to do it again. Harder, and faster until she was sore and dripping onto the table.

FP had grinned, triumphant.

Kingly.

Somehow, he’d known what she hadn’t been able voice.

He’d pulled up a chair and gripped her thighs, tight enough that she’d had bruises the next day. He’d bent his head and licked, a broad swipe that ended in a delicate little flick to the tip or her clit. Betty had arched up, her pussy clenching, the tiniest hint of an ache beginning to build. FP had made another noise, this time faintly mocking. He’d licked over her entrance, his tongue just pressing inside and she’d groaned, her body rocking, trying to take more. “Look at this greedy little cunt,” he’d murmured, and Betty had gasped at the crude words.

But she hadn’t protested. She’d stared at FP, her eyes wide and her lips parted, and she’d reached down to hold her skirt out of his way.

“We’re going to have fun, Betty Cooper.”

She hadn’t been sure if the words had been a promise or a threat.

She still isn’t.

She’d lost track of the number of times she’d come on that table. FP’s mouth had been magic, and he’d sucked and licked at her clit, teasing her until her thighs had shook and her back had been arched sharply off the table. The first time she’d come had been quick and hard and surprising, her breath leaving her in a gasp. FP had been merciless, sucking her clit into his mouth, harsh pulls that made the waves of pleasure rush hotter and faster until one orgasm rolled into another.

She’d rocked as much as she’d been able to under his firm grip, wetness leaking from her, between the cheeks of her ass (which she’d been thankful for later once his fingers had begun to stroke a place Betty had never thought would welcome such a touch). She’d come again and again, her throat raw from crying out.

He’d left her empty until she’d begged, her head thrashing and sweat slicking her skin. “ _Please_ ,” she’d rasped. “I need you _in_ me.”

FP had only smirked, a little mean. He’d pushed his chair back from the table, opened his jeans and shoved down his boxer briefs. He’d licked his lips, already wet with her, waited until she’d risen shakily, into a sitting position. “Do you think you’ve earned this, little girl?”

His hand had reached between her thighs, cupping her and smearing her cum across his palm. He’d fisted his cock, head tipping back in bliss as he’d stroked himself from root to tip, her slickness easing the way. Betty had watched the motion raptly, had barely heard his question. “I want it,” she’d said.

And oh, had she ever. She’d known that FP’s cock, long and thick, would stretch her just right, that she’d feel him the next day.

That he wouldn’t worry about hurting her, that he’d go as fast and deep and rough as she needed.

“Show me.”

Betty had blinked, confused. Had repeated his words slowly, “Show you?”

“Put your fingers on your pretty pink cunt, show me where you want me.”

She’d flushed hot with humiliation at the idea, though her breathing had quickened. Betty had dropped her eyes, her hand shaking as it had brushed her inner thigh. “Eyes on me,” FP had snapped.

Her eyes had widened, flitting up automatically at the harsh tone. He’d smiled at her, like he’d been pleased. “Such a good girl,” he’d crooned, voice gravelly. “I want a show, Betty. Make it a good one.”

The humiliation had twisted into something else, a craving sitting low and heavy in her belly. She’d spread her thighs more, until the stretch began to hurt. She used two fingers to spread herself open, her fingers growing slick.

“Do you want my cock inside you, little girl?”

Betty had nodded, frantic with how much she’d needed it.

FP had surged to his feet, his hands yanking her off the table and flipping her over. He’d tangled his hand in her ponytail and tugged. Betty had moaned and pushed up on her toes, mindless with the need to be filled. His cock had slid between her thighs, rubbed against her folds. “Please,” she’d whined, wriggling in his hold. “Oh please, I need...”

She’d yelped when he’d slapped the side of her thigh. “If you want to get fucked, you’re going to call me Daddy.”

Betty had been too turned on, too close to the edge, to even think about questioning him. “Daddy please,” she’d babbled, “Daddy, I need...”

She’d screamed when he’d shoved his cock inside of her, it had been too much too fast but still so good. Her nails had scraped at the scuffed table top as FP had set a punishing pace, her thighs slamming into the edge.

“So hot,” he’d gritted out. “Hot and tight and wet, all for me.”

She’d come with a yell, fluid rushing out of her, trickling down her legs. FP had laughed, delighted and breathless, his pace slowing as Betty’s body grew limp.

She’d been dazed with pleasure but far from sated. FP had reached under her, pinched her clit and she’d whimpered, licked her dry lips. Betty had gotten her elbows under her, had rocked back into FP’s next thrust, head thunking to the table as the friction made her thighs shake.

FP had yanked at her hair, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. He’d picked up the pace again, come with a shudder when another climax tore through Betty, his breathless words pressed into her skin, “So much fun.”

That had been three months ago. Since then FP’s asked her for so much more.

She always complies. She’s stopped telling herself that it’s only because she knows her place. That, as Serpent Queen she has certain duties, to the King and the man who’d made the King.

Betty does what FP asks because she likes it.

She likes having a secret, likes that no one, not even the people who know her best, would ever suspect what perfect Betty Cooper’s been getting up into. That the serpents who still sneer at her, that think she’s weak and too pure, who are convinced that she’ll go running back to the Northside shrieking bloody murder, all underestimate her.

She’s got a secret, one she shares with only one other person.

And Daddy will never tell.

She’s supposed to be naked when she’s in his bed but Betty’s come to like misbehaving too. She takes off her jeans, leaves them in the living room. Ditches her cardigan. She unclips her bra, pulls it through the sleeve of her t-shirt.

Then she lets herself into FP’s room, crawls into his bed in her t-shirt and panties, curls up with a pillow that smells like him. She’s brought her phone with her, replies to his text.

_Will you be home soon?_

_Maybe._

_I’m in your bed._

_Good girl._

_Can I touch myself, Daddy?_

_No._

_Pretty please?_

_No._

Betty huffs out an impatient sigh. Considers her options. She brings her knees up to her chest, grasps the pillow in both hands, tells herself to avoid the temptation. She’s already breaking a rule, if she pushes it, FP might not let her come at all.

And that would be awful.

Betty takes a long breath, counts to ten. Exhales just as carefully. Then again. She loses track of time as the room grows dark, must drift to sleep.

She wakes when a body joins her in the bed, one that’s now familiar. FP always smells like leather, a little bit of smoke, and Betty smiles when his hand tugs at the waistband of her cotton panties.

“Someone’s being a bad girl,” FP says. His tone is carefully neutral and Betty’s heart races in anticipation. He rolls away for a second and Betty hears the bedside drawer open. He’s back before she can sneak a peak at whatever toy he’s pulled out. “I should probably spank you but I think you like that a little too much.”

She really does. Likes it even better when he uses something other than his hand.

“So let’s try something else.”

FP pushes on Betty’s shoulder and she rolls willingly on to her stomach. “On your knees.” She draws them up under her but FP’s hands on her back keeps her chest pressed to the mattress, her face buried in the pillow. He yanks her underwear to the side, presses his thumb to her entrance, slicking it in the arousal seeping from her, before drawing it up, pressing lightly against her the rim of her ass. Betty’s stomach tightens and she holds in a gasp.

He teases the hole, thumb moving in featherlight circles and Betty can’t help the way her cheeks clench. It’s not fear, exactly, because she’s no stranger to this. FP had started small, a lubed finger and then two that first night. It had been strange but something about the feeling of being worked open, of her muscles giving for FP as he’d praised her, had worked for Betty and she’d whimpered and asked for more. Since then she’s worn plugs while he’s fucked her, has found that she loves nothing more than being so full she feels like she can’t take any more.

FP likes to prove that she can take more and well, Betty likes a challenge.

She shivers when she feels the lube trickle over her sensitized skin and FP’s laugh is rich and indulgent as he rubs it into her. He’s generous with it, like always, working her gently. It takes her a minute to realize he’s using the warming kind, the heat building and tingling, the sensations prickling her skin as he feeds it deeper and deeper inside. Betty pants into the pillow and tries not to squirm.

“Look at you, getting all wet while I play with your ass. My slutty serpent queen.”

He skin’s getting hot, she knows she must be flushing pink. Her nipples are growing tight and achy, pressed into the cotton sheets. FP knows what words like that do to her, uses it to his advantage.

“Did you touch yourself, Betty?”

“No, Daddy.” She’s grateful now that she hadn’t given into the temptation.

“If you’d have been a good girl, and followed the rules, I’d have let you rub your sweet little cunt while I stretch you out.”

“M’sorry, Daddy,” Betty mumbles.

FP continues, like he hadn’t heard her. “I might have even taken a taste. Sucked on your clit until you screamed for me. But no, you decided to be a brat. If you wanted a spanking you could have just asked.”

Betty can’t imagine doing that. Her tongue gets loose and filthy requests spill from her once she’s come a few times, or when she’s desperate to. Approaching FP, asking him to spank her? She’d never get the words out.

“Good girls ask nicely for what they want, and they’re usually rewarded.”

“I try to be a good girl.”

That might be a little bit of a lie.

He hums, like he’s reading her mind. “Do you now? If you’re too shy to use your words there are other ways to ask.”

Betty twists, tries to look at him, intrigued. “Like what?”

“You could have just bent over the arm of the couch, flipped up one of your cute little skirts. Your daddy’s a smart man, Betts. I would have gotten the hint. Would have loved to watch your pretty skin turn pink from my hand and have you dripping down your thighs.”

He’s progressed to fucking her now, his fingers thrusting in and out of her ass. It burns a little, in the best way and Betty’s making soft grunts, has her hands fisted in the sheets because her clit’s throbbing and she wants nothing more than to reach down and play with it.

“I could have fingered your needy little cunt until you came for me. Maybe stuffed a toy in there, to keep you nice and slick while I enjoyed your pretty mouth.”

The coil of need in her belly is tight and hot but there’s no relief in sight. She can’t come like this, not without something inside if her, some pressure on her clit. Betty moans, nearly a wail, her words coming out scratchy and strained, “I’ll suck you now, Daddy. I’ll be so good.”

FP makes a shushing noise, sounding almost sympathetic. Then there’s something cold prodding at her rim, stretching her more than his fingers had. Betty takes a deep breath, her eyes watering as the plug settles into place. It’s hard, metal or glass, and it must be new. She clenches down around it experimentally, sighs because her body can’t seem to tell if it welcomes the invasion or not.

“Sorry, baby. That’s a treat for good girls.”

The angles not great but she can see his arm moving, the motion familiar, can hear the familiar sounds of him stroking his own cock. Her toes curl as his breathing grows heavy and she whines when he comes, the evidence spraying the back of her thighs.

“Get back under the covers,” FP says, his tone firm.

Betty knows better than to argue. She moves gingerly, getting used to the weight and size of the plug. She tries to lie still, even as the wetness on her thighs taunts her, urges her to squeeze them together in hopes of gaining a bit of relief.

She can hear FP in the bathroom, the water running as he washes his hands and cleans up. She tries the deep breathing again though she has no hopes it will lull her to sleep.

FP crawls in beside her, fits himself along her back. He’s naked, his skin hot as he envelops her. Betty’s tense, her muscles pulled taut with want, her nerves frayed. The lightest brush of FP’s lips on her neck has her shuddering. One of his hands slides under her shirt, his palm cupping her breast. He toys with her nipple until it’s straining, moves on to the other flicking his nail idly over the tip.

She tries to stay still, compliant. Let’s him play in hopes he’ll be generous. She’d hopeful, when he peels her panties away. When he strokes her thigh, lifts it back over her hip she nearly sobs in relief, “Daddy, please.”

He makes no move to enter her, his cock stirring against the small of her back. “It’s not going to be that easy, Betty.”

She doesn’t process his words at first, not until she hears the dull buzz from under the covers. A small vibrator presses against her, just under her clit. Betty writhes, rocking into the toy and FP draws it along the seam of her, until it presses against the base of the plug. He repeats the motion, leisurely, again and again. He pays no mind to her motions, the urgent jerks she can’t seem to stop. She feels a climax building, sharp and jagged, pleasure crawling through her. She’s almost there, moaning brokenly, when FP turns off the toy. She doesn’t have the breath to protest, not when he’s now twisting the plug inside if her, easing it out and pressing the head of his now hard cock there instead.

He stills and Betty does too, desperate high pitched noises spilling from her lips. “Be a good girl and take my cock, Betty. If you want to come you have to work for it.”

Betty shifts experimentally, reaches back to open herself up so it’s easier to take him deeper. “That’s it,” FP mutters, strained. Betty want more of that, more praise and more of FP’s iron control fraying. For her, because of her.

She goes slow, taking him in increments, rocking back and forth. It starts to feel good, the deeper he goes and she feels herself loosen and relax, her eyes growing heavy as her mind grows hazy. FP’s hands still her when he’s flush against her. One of his arms slides underneath Betty, banding across her chest. He rolls onto his back and Betty moans when he sinks in even deeper, her ass clenching down.

“Fuck,” FP hisses out. “Do that again.”

Betty, of course, obeys.

She pouts a little when he demands she stop, lifts her arms obediently when he makes to strip off her shirt. He shifts a little behind her, settles down after a moment, fills both his hands with her breasts. “Now,” FP says, “I have a challenge for you.”

Betty’s lead lolls back as his hips roll, shifting him inside her. “A challenge? Now?”

He ignores her incredulousness. “I want you to lay here, with my cock buried in your tight little ass. There will be no coming. For say.., half an hour.”

“Half an hour?” Betty exclaims, high pitched and alarmed.

“Oh, you’d prefer an hour?” FP drawls, decidedly smug. “That’s perfectly fine with me. A queen should get what she wishes, shouldn’t she?”

Betty clenches her teeth together so hard her jaw aches. He’s taunting her but she knows how to pick her battles.

“If you can manage that,” his tone clearly says that he doesn’t think she can, “I’ll make you come any way you want.”

Visions of sitting on FP’s face, his stubble scraping her thighs as she rides his tongue, dance in Betty’s head. His mouth is so very talented.

“And if I can’t?” Betty asks, wary but curious.

“I come how I want. Are you up for the challenge?”

Betty squirms against him, tries to get more comfortable. She’s always up for a challenge. Thrives on them, in fact.

“That’s a good girl,” FP says, but there’s an edge there that has Betty’s confidence waning. His hand skims down her stomach, fingers finding her clit. Betty moans, her legs falling open, splayed wantonly on either side of FP’s body as he begins to play with her, her thighs already quivering as he rubs and rolls where she’s most sensitive.

“Not. Fair. Daddy,” she gasps brokenly.

A warm, satisfied laugh is FP’s only response.

She should have know he wouldn’t play nice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FP gets a new bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And mindless smut is still all my brain can occasionally focus on. Shrug.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kudos! I’m down for suggestions too if anyone wants to leave them in the comments.

Betty’s heart pounds as she makes her way through the woods, each heavy beat coinciding with a slightly too loud exhale. It’s only logical to be nervous, alone and picking her way down an overgrown trail in the middle of the night. Riverdale’s not very big but it contains more then it’s fair share of shady characters.

One of whom she’s heading to meet.

She keeps going, one foot in front of the other, occasionally glancing down at her phone to make sure she’s going in the right direction. She’s never ventured this deep into the forests on the Southside. 

Probably wouldn’t ever have, if not for FP’s instructions. 

She’s late to meet him and that knowledge is only heightening her anxiety. 

And her arousal.

When Betty spies a beam of light she picks up the pace, opens her mouth to apologize when she breaches the clearing.

“Strip,” FP commands, before she can say a thing. She catches a brief glimpse of him, standing with his arms crossed next to the bike. Then the headlight brightens and Betty has to squint. 

His tone is one knows better than to argue with.

She hurriedly reaches for the buttons on her short sleeved blouse, kicking off her sneakers at the same time. She hears footsteps approaching, can just make out FP’s form. The glare from the bike obscures his expression. “Slower,” he says, from somewhere on her left.

Betty takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders to relax. She lets her blouse slip down her shoulder, then her arms, falling forgotten to the forest floor. A touch ghosts across her spine, approval, she imagines. 

FP’s somewhere behind her and Betty glances at the bike again. It’s brand new and she can’t claim to be all that knowledgeable about motorcycle specs but, judging by the pack of Serpents who had crowded around when he’d arrived at the bar, the admiring gazes and questions, she assumes it’s impressive.

His leather jacket scrapes across her bare arm before FP grips her ponytail, forcing her head straight. He must have sensed her distraction. 

FP leans into her, his rough cheek scraping across the side of her neck. Betty presses her lips together to avoid making a needy sound.

Just last week he’d tied her down and eaten her out. Pushing her just to the edge of coming before pulling back and rubbing his stubble against her inner thighs until they’d been red and sensitive. Then he’d shove his tongue in her, or rub his chin over her clit, forcing her to climb again and again. Betty can’t help it if she has certain... associations now. 

“You kept me waiting,” FP rumbles, more than a hint of annoyance in the short sentence. She’d bet at least some of it it feigned - he gets off on punishing her. “After I gave you a treat earlier too. So ungrateful.” His hands are on her hips now, rubbing her ass against his hardening cock.

She bites her lip, unzips her jeans. She can’t argue - she had enjoyed earlier, when he’d yanked her into the store room at the bar and bent her over a pile of crates, his hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. 

“ _I didn’t lock the door,” he’d told her, just as his thick cock had slid home._

_He’d been fingering her under the table for a half hour so she’d been more than wet enough to take him._

_He’d kicked her legs wider, began thrusting, deep and firm and brain meltingly good. “What if one of the guys came in, huh? Saw you bent over, your hot little cunt dripping all over my cock. Saw how much sweet Betty Cooper needs to be fucked. We’d have to think fast to get them to keep quiet.”_

_She’d made a noise then, low and desperate, hadn’t been able to stop herself from picturing it. She can’t even blame FP for being a bad influence - Betty’s always liked an audience._

_FP had husked out a laugh and hauled her up, so her back was flush to his chest. “Push your shirt up and pull on your nipples,” he’d told her and Betty’s shaky hands had obeyed. She’d pinched and tugged on the tight peaks, her clit throbbing when she got rougher. “Hell, they’d probably agree to keep their mouth’s shut just for the privilege of seeing you like this. Tit’s bouncing and so fucking horny. You’re a dirty old man’s wet dream, Betty Cooper. Greedy slut.”_

_She’d whined then, her thighs growing shaky. FP’s hand had drifted down her stomach , slow enough to be a taunt. And he’d kept talking. “Maybe we’d sit you on my lap, hmm? Let them see how much you like your ass filled and then they could play with your pussy while you bounced on my cock.” He’d laughed again, louder, and she’d eyed the doorknob, wondering if she’d be able to see it turn. “On second thought, I think we’d let them fuck your mouth,” he’d said, conversationally. “For such a privilege they’d take our secret to the grave.”_

_He’d started rubbing her clit then and Betty had come hard, vision going hazy and a scream muffled in FP’s palm._

_She’d slumped over the crates, panting, hadn’t been able to muster up the energy to stir when FP had shoved the panties he’d ripped off of her into her still twitching pussy. “You’ll meet me later and help me christen the bike, like the perfect Serpent Queen you are,” he’d murmured. “Gonna need you nice and wet so don’t even think about cleaning up.”_

She almost missed FP’s question, distracted by the memories. “Did you follow my other instructions?” 

Betty widens her stance in answer and FP’s hand drifts down, into the waistband of her jeans. He’s careful not to touch her clit and she clenches her teeth against the urge to complain. His fingertips brush her opening, finding the fabric that’s still tucked inside. 

“Good girl.”

Betty’s hips rock at the praise, attempting to rub against his hand, but FP steps back. His hands land on her shoulders, glide down her arms. When he grasps her wrists he draws them behind her back and presses them together. “Hold still,” FP instructs and Betty hears a faint squeak of leather just before a cuff is wrapped around her wrist. 

She doesn’t struggle and soon both her wrists are bound and connected by a double sided snap hook. She has no choice but to stand with her breasts thrust out and FP obviously appreciates the sight when he circles until he’s standing in front of her. He licks his lower lip, tugs the cups down, scrapes his nails too briefly over her nipples. The sting sends a thrum if need through her and Betty clenches down and squirms, wishing she had more then a flimsy pair of panties inside of her. His head dips, the flat of his tongue dragging over her nipple leisurely. The skin grows tight and sensitive and he sucks briefly before stepping back. 

“I’m going to lay you on the bike later, slide my cock between your perfect tits and into your mouth.”

Betty gulps, a shiver wracking her spine. Apparently he hadn’t been kidding about the christening.

“On your knees,” FP rasps, steadying Betty when she crouches. She’s eye level with his belt, eagerly watching as his hands undo the buckle. She swirls her tongue in her mouth, gathering moisture and when FP’s shoves his jeans and boxers down she leans forward and licks the fluid from his tip, tilting her chin up to watch him as she wraps her lips around his cock.

FP groans when she sucks him down, head falling back. “Christ, your mouth,” he mutters, wrapping her hair around his fist. Betty moans when he hits the back of her throat, pleased when he makes another guttural noise of pleasure. Her eyes flutter shut when FP takes control, his hips rolling as he thrusts and withdraws. She sucks and licks, trying to keep up, her saliva and his precum slipping from her mouth. 

Betty’s got her thighs pressed together, squirming in hopes of getting the seam of her jeans lined up just right against her clit. She knows FP is close, tastes it, she tightens her lips in preparation. He surprises her, pulls back, yanking on her hair when Betty makes to follow. He put his thumb on her lower lip, slides it into her mouth. Betty sucks and FP smiles indulgently, “Not so fast, little girl. Did you forget that you were late?”

Honestly? Betty kind of had. She pouts a little, bats her lashes subtly, because if he’s in the right mood FP can be convinced to go easy on her. And, considering he’d just been fucking her mouth, he might just be inclined to be generous.

He shakes his head but there’s a smile curling his lips. “Don’t be a brat.”

FP reaches down, hauls Betty to her feet. She’s a little wobbly and very wet, stumbling along as FP leads her to the bike. He pats the seat. “Ass in the air.” He opens one of the saddlebags, rummages around for a moment. Betty bends at the waist, just catches sight of the paddle he withdraws. 

She’s not the least bit surprised he’d planned ahead.

FP smacks her ass, open palm and over her jeans, and Betty yelps in surprise. “Higher. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

FP sounds exasperated and Betty fights the urge to talk back - it’s not like anything they do is _routine_ \- but she knows that’ll only add to how sore her ass is going to be later. “Sorry, daddy,” She whispers, adjusting her stance and arching her back.

Maybe the title will help.

FP hums in approval, peeling her jeans down her thighs. He leaves them around her knees, his hand cupping her pussy. Betty moans, shifting her weight from side to side when he teases her clit but the contact is too brief. 

“You were nine minutes late. But we’ll make it an even ten for good measure.”

The paddle cracks against Betty’s ass before she can process. She shrieks at the first impact, on the left, moans when it mellows into a sting. FP lands another hit, in the exact same spot, then switches to the right, landing another two in quick succession. Betty presses up on to her toes and FP chuckles in delight, the paddle landing lower, just above the crease of her thigh. First left, and then right, before he aims higher and in the center.

Her skin is tingling, heat building and building and making her clit throb, desperate for attention.

That blow, the seventh, pulls another cry from Betty, this one higher pitched and needy. FP’s hand runs soothingly along her inflamed skin, his calloused palms scraping, adding to the burn between her legs. “Can you be a good girl and take three more? Daddy promises to make you feel so much better after.”

She breathes in, unsteady, blinks back the tears that have begun to form. “Three more. Please, daddy. I want it.”

The eight lands across her ass, the ninth a little lower. Betty knows the tenth is going to be the worst (and the best) and she screams as the paddle hits her pussy, writhing in a confused mix of pained pleasure. FP yanks her sodden panties out of her pussy, slides his cock along her slit, gathering her slickness and his earlier semen before he pushes inside. She whimpers and he works his hand under her. He only has to rub at her clit for a few seconds before her back bows up and her thighs shake, her inner muscles coiling tightly around his cock as she comes and comes. FP wraps his hands around the front of her thighs, fucking her harshly and Betty lays limply across the motorcycle, breathing heavily as the aftershocks thrum through her. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” FP rasps, then his hips press flush against her ass and he shudders. He softens and slides out of her but she’s not empty for long.

Betty whines, squirming as something smooth and hard presses against her opening. FP shushes her, easing the new object inside. “Keep that there. You gotta stay nice and wet, remember, Baby?” 

He pulls her until she’d mostly upright and Betty feels the shift of the thing inside of her, feels an edge hit the back of her thigh. She’d used to his fingers, his cock. A myriad of toys. This is... different. “Did you... is that...”

She’ll just chalk the incoherence up to the orgasms. 

“Don’t let it fall out,” FP says. “I’d hate to have to start all over.” It’s a taunt and he twists the paddle from left to right a few times and Betty moans, her knees going weak as the handle scrapes against her inner walls in a way that’s surprisingly good.

She’s distracted as he works her jeans the rest of the way off, holding the paddle in place when she has to step out of them. He begins to fuck her with it, lazily but still distractingly, and Betty’s hips begin to follow top he motions helplessly. She almost misses FP’s direction. “Wha..at?”

“I said, it’s time to christen the bike. Hop on.”

There’s an edge to the words. Betty doesn’t want to make him repeat them again. Gingerly she shifts to one side, her wrists straining against her bonds as she tries to maintain her balance. FP helps, if keeping the paddle inside of her could be considered helpful, though he tosses it aside once Betty’s straddling the bike. He presses her against the seat and Betty’s face, neck and entire body heat when she feels the rush of fluids trickle out of her pussy, smearing against the leather. 

She holds herself rigid when FP climbs on behind her. He undoes the cuffs on her wrist, then the claps on her bra. His thighs bracket hers and then he reaches down and hooks his hands under her knees, draping them over his so she’s spread wide. He then leans forward, forcing Betty’s body tight to the upward slope of the seat. She watches in disbelief as he turns the ignition on, then revs it.

A moan falls from her mouth and Betty’s head bows forward, eyes fluttering shut.

The engine is powerful, vibration rattling the bike, making the leather pressed up against Betty’s most sensitive parts hum. She clutches the seat in front of her desperately, and FP’s hips nudge against her ass. “Ride it,” he rasps, his free hand sliding up her side. He cranks the bike again, longer this time, and tugs at her nipple. Betty shudders unable to resist rocking against the seat. 

She leans forward, clit pressing to the slippery leather, slides her body back and forth. She can feel FP’s cock against her lower back, twitching to life. His hand delves between her folds, spreading her open so she had more direct contact and a Betty humps harder, her muscles tightening as the pleasure builds. 

FP’s hand withdraws, only to burrow between the cheeks of her ass. He nudges against the twitching hole there, painting it with the slickness that’s dripping from her and easing a finger in. Betty cries out. It’s not enough. “Please,” she gasps, “fuck me again. I need...”

He forces her front down against the bike, he legs falling until her feet brush the ground. “Keep going,” he urges her, laying heavily against her back. He’s got two fingers working into her ass now and Betty squirms restlessly, alternating between rubbing herself against the seat and taking his fingers deeper. She’s gasping for air, desperate to come. “Make yourself cum, Betty. All over my bike. I want to smell it every time I ride.”

Her spine stiffens, thighs beginning to shake as she starts to come. FP yanks her hips up, forcing her trembling body along the length of his cock. “Yes!” Betty cries, vision whiting out. FP begins to move, rocking her body forward roughly, and Betty keeps coming, her clit swollen and rubbing harshly against the seat.

She might pass out, at least for a moment. When she comes FP is turning her, she’s boneless, lets him sprawl her back against the seat. His eyes are focused on her splayed thighs, her slick skin and the fluid spilling from her pussy. He rubs her clit, gently now. Betty’s not wrung out enough yet, a new flutter of arousal starts up low in her belly.

She licks her lips, barely recognizes the hoarse scratch of her voice, “Isn’t it christened yet?”

FP’s teeth gleam white in the low light, “Not even close.”


End file.
